the sadness rolls in
like waves eroding the shore
and the tides coming in
forecast of more storms
and heavy weather
skys dismal,pewter grey
friend is dying
and the waves are
eroding  my footholds away
kingtide baby, kingtide.

the potter,
made me whole.
the world broke me.
you, are the craftsman,
who put me back together.
it is your love,
purest gold, that holds
the broken shards in place
and makes me,
beautiful, beyond measure.
to the eyes of the beholder.

belly to belly
we lay...
recently connected
and entwined
now spent....complete.

lips to lips we murmer
our gratitude...
as you slip from within,
i mourn that small loss
of contact....everytime.

our eyes meet... and speak
worlds of migration,
taken, together....
we have collided again
....and small continents
have shaken and quivered.

lassitude overcomes,
the earlier...longitudinal
display....
and the mountain, sleeps
as the valley cleft.....watches.
we lay...
belly to belly...replete

the day is slow
the clouds barely drift
shadows lengthen
with minute pace

we sit together
and ponder life
grass grows before us,
tea brews in a cooling ***.

the cat stretches,
rolls over and
falls back into
blu-cat dreams


the world sighs....
                    such a wonderful
                                           lassitude

tommorrow, a new day,
yesterday, history forgiven
now, a a long drink of regret
...... and anticipation

we coupled,last night
ben and i
in a strange wild sobbing
song of grieving,
primal,greedy, frentic lusting.
it was, an affirmation
of life,
desperation and sorrow was
our rythmn.....
anger and sadness,
the counterpoints to our, thrusting, grasping beast.
spent,  but still crying,
we spooned,
and pressed our
anguish, against each other
this morning, we are sombre
and united in sadness.
as we pack our black clothes,
to travel to your funeral.
our blood,
still humming,
with that strange song,
so wild, in it's abandoned longing of desperate need to create living, life.. to go on.

This one thing
I know
When I shuffle off this mortal coil.
Bury me not
in a six foot hole
in s park of six foot holes
Headstones
set in rows of rows.
Marked with year, start and end.
Do not do this to me my friends
I ask you
to bury me
among the roots
of a large tree
with branches spread wide
that embrace
the sky.
A tree that  
children
can clamber and climb
and see forever away,
one that is
a castle in their imaginary play.
Find a tree
with space below
so that friends
can cone  
sit, stare into those branches so leafy and green and find solace  
in what
might have been.
Or simply
read a good book
in the
tree's shade.
Let there be picnic and lovers trysts
and in years ppl
to come
let there be  
benches
for those that come to sit in peace
for short moments in time.
Let my death
have  more purpose,
than mere
memory
of my time
alive on earth  

let it be
a place with
no marker
of how long
I was  me,
but be  more
my soul's  transference
into eternity.
Let me
nourish
the world
in ways anew.
Under a tree
with an
amazing view.

suds on fingers leads to
slippery plate leads to
plate sliding leads to
slow motion gasp leads to
slapcrash on the wooden floors leads to
coloured glass shattering,
into 1000's of tiny knives leads to
glass entering ankle  leads to
blood lotsa blood  leads to
anguished cry leads to
low key panic leads to
hasty clean up and "it won't stop bleeding", leads to
fast trip to hospital, leads to
lengthy wait leads to
x-ray and 9 stitches leads to
bandage and crutches leads to
foot up, take away chinese & favourite chocolates
leads to ....writing this memoir.....

if it were to be,
my last day on earth.

i would wish it to be like
this....
gray flannel clouds,
set against a blue,blue sky.

puddles, glassiene,
on the ground
and water dripping,
an unsteady rhythm,
from leaf to leaf,
to ground...

there is a...
soft edged feel
to the world,
newly cleaned,
full of promise and hope
and the scent of frangipani.

if it were my time,  
i would love to leave
on a promise,
of hope and frangipani...
wouldn't you?

the little black lizards
scurry away
to hide under rocks

bettles and bugs
squat inside their
carapaces
snails in their shells

the novice hunter
is out and about
large pawed
and excitable

he jumps and scitters
catching leaves
and grass heads

while the birds sit and watch

when we have people come visit.
i find myself saying, normally, somewhere
within the first half hour.

the following,
in one form or another;
let me explain about the cat. no he is not unwell,
nor does he have a skin condition.
thats the way they come, devon rex's.

yes i know,
they look like
little *** bellied men,
who having been,
startled by the ringing,
of the front doorbell.
have grabbed their
wife's tatty chennile bathrobe,
but then have not,
tied the sash,
so now show,
an almost, indecent
amount of wrinkly flesh.

yes" their fur is so soft, like down,
except for the front paws they are like crushed velvet gloves.

no i am sorry,
he is not a climb up
and snuggle into your lap cat he is a more of a,
stare at you, weigh you up,
find you wanting,
until it's all becomes,
sort of awkward cat.
if he does happen
to approve  -
and in all honesty,
he probably won't.

i don't want to get your hopes up,
but if he does,
you will be presented,
with a token,
it may be a lizard or a bug
or moth, but pencils, a sock and pet ***** have also been gifted.

yes, he is unusual
but that is
the beauty of the breed
and the beauty of the Gus,cat.

best way
to describe him
charlie chaplin
wearing stan laurel's
black and white suit.

black hat, white gloves
funny walk..
does not say much
but forever making us laugh

he is just not sure,
why that tail thing
follows him everywhere...

loves the blucat...
the blucat tolerates him
but is warming by the hour

he is tod's new cat...
the blucat....gus  is
geting on and prefers
to sleep...
timothy tuxedo
(he was going to be captain wrinkly drawers....but sanity
prevailed...can you imagine
standing at the the back door
and calling that cat..)
...plays
until he drops...
this will be a good thing

once tuxedo boy stops living
in the bottom of the shower...

today  we had
chocolate cake
for breakfast

the really deep fudgy type
the one that the taste stays
in your mouth for a long time after
so that you still think you
are eating chocolate two hour late

the type your mum used to make
and have waiting for you after school
sitting there on the table, with a glass
of cold fresh milk, the type that made
the worst day of schoolyard politics
be forgotten as you took that first bite

that is what we had for breakfast today
that sort of chocolate cake.....
I can still taste it now.....

sea, azure ripplings
broken by  a coal black back
whales passing on through

tail slap and full breach
immense elegance and brine
dinner plate eyes see all

the leviathan
of legends past, now become
tourist attraction

i found this little poem
sitting unattended,
alone,
on a bench at
the bus station.

when i said hello...
the relief and elation,
on this little poem's face,
made me feel protective
of this, orphan creation.

so i took this little poem
home...
no longer lost,
it thrived
from three lines to five
and before
we wished it
happy cinquain
it had doubled in size,
again.

full, rounded verse,
in cursive copperplate.
as it entered puberty
its moods swung,
between...
love, anger, hate
and then struggled gamely through
depression angst and fear..
all jots and tittles,
with future, unclear.

but eventually it matured
as we all do....
into a thoughtful expression
of beauty and love,
a strong and independant
statement of grace.

and then it was time,
to say goodbye....
the little found poem,
needed to leave
and find it's place,
in the wider world.
needed to find
and impress a girl.

it said it needed,
to make a splash...
grab some cash...
it promised not
to become, just a jingle...

and to write when
he could....

but til then.... anon...

the smell of used books
and years of young love
wafts through the
airconditioning

it is quiet, but not silent
with mumured questions
and conversations being
puntuated by electronics

still there are heads bent
in the pursuit of knowledge
some deep, some philosophical
some kardashianesque.

i sit in comfort, in a nook
breathing in must and thought
and ponder the quest for knowledge

the tour passes by, the guide intones;
there is over 46 kilometres of shelving
in this library, each shelf stacks six high.
just under two hundred computers
and of course access  to wifi...this is
the hub of  knowledge and should
well become your second home

i smile as i watch the bright young things
in the nook across  from me,  
devour  the knowledge of each others face
learning diversified....

in my garden
a wren lies... dead
it flew with haste
from the lilac tree
and then fell
from mid air to the ground

a little blue black pebble
with soft downed contours
it lies motionless and cooling
as i watch....
half expecting the small beautiful beast to rise
...like lazarus and fly again...

...but no....
              and now i must go
pick up this scrap of god...
before it becomes a plaything for my cat...

death...  on gossamer wings
alights,
on my bed head
to watch with......... disgust
and rude dissappointment.
as i open my eyes
and greet the dawn of
another day full of potential....
summarily for us both.

this is the ....9862nd time for this
particular ritua.... there are other rituals with a higher
number.... but this one is important and not to be missed.
for death.... this is but the
start of his working day ...
as he trails behind me, in anticipation ....
watching and waiting for my
demise....
as i grow old his blood grow thinner.... greyer ....
but to his task, so grim....
he is chained .....and full
well knows that..... in the end
he will not ever... be denied.

besides it could be worse
he could have been cursed
to have as his prize.....
one of those centenanarians....
but then this one is sanguinely
stubborn....drat it may still happen ... and that would be
.....tragic... for you see...
.....the deaths that follow them.. the old... old.....
are now..... nanoscopicly
microscopicly minute
... in size

so now to explain....the way it works.....(as seen inside this .....................quirky brain)
is this..... when born..
.....death looms big and large.
as you grow garnering fear
wisdom and years..... it's size
decreases.
and one other thing death
......is one and...... is many

one, final call gifted to us all.
many, differing ways and
needs.

so.... we all have somewhere
in our blood... our brain our
eyes.... in our home and our surrounds.
a little bit of death
waiting........  to be found
he is patient and through
the many, many ...many years of his existance.....
not one has he lost.... forever
although some miss the early
call.....abscond.....refuse to fall at first or second sounding..

when your time is done ......
he will be waiting... on
wings of gossemer dark
and forthright...

for you and i...til then..
he flys close by
as we ....whistle our days away
frustrating this deaths play
.....for early completion

quiet night broken
by the triumph of an owl
mouse house in mourning

i sit in the low afternoon
sun
the warmth of it's rays negligable, but the colours
of it's farewell glorious.

in the lilac bush, still holding
green, the bluewrens chitter,
gossip, chirk and flirt away..
as they dart and flicker from twig to twig.
i think what a bluegreen end to a greyblack day....

and the sun shines,orange
and peach and the horizon
takes that lavender hue.

as the sky fades to deepest
blue.... my thoughts my friend, settle on you...
farewell my sunny friend
                                    farewell.

it is intangible...

how I have tried
with high-falutin,
poetic words....
to describe
how I miss you..

but I never get it right...

I just miss,
the warp and weft,
we weaved between us,
those links of the fabric
of our lives.

small threads and large,
words and silences,
smiles and tears
oh how I miss, I miss...
simple touches, shared laughter,
a cup of tea and a seat in the
evening sun...

I miss, I miss, I miss...

I am not alone or lonely.
I am loved and love.

but... I have not become
reconciled to the absence
of you..... I don't think
I ever will...

I am resigned,
but oh how
I miss.....

grasshopper poised
to make the leap
of it's life
but slips
cartwheels
and lands
on it's back
nature smiles
as theleaf dappled sun
strikes it's body
with gentle grace

maria,
a woman, unknown to me
sits some where grieving
battered and beaten down
by the heaviest of burdens.

her loss, unimaginable,

but i see, many hands
lifting her up, into the sight
of gods.

many hearts ache,
many people pray
many people write

lifting her up, into the hands
of gods

i add my words of consolation
my paltry words
from a world away

know you are loved,
dear lady and though
it is inconcievable the burden, the loss,
you carry

you will be lifted up by love
into the sight of gods
this day

perched,
on a tendril whisp,
of a synaptic vine.
the half formed
thought,
chirped and chirked,
as it chipped away
at the ovipidal embrace of  
sleepy, slothfulness....
sublime.

it wanted freedom,
to fly and sing....
no longer,
sleeping or,
being held within...
no longer,
hiding away
from the sun.
no longer,
fearful of becoming...
undone.
influencing,
nada and no-one.

just happy to be,
a small, but clear...
clarion call.

now, standing strong
singing out it's
life embracing, life renewing
song.....
this thought, now has,
substance ....
bright coloured wings
and pride....
in the joy, it brings.
it has grace and grattitude.
a name so wonderful....
to go with,
this bright and energetic
attitude...

meet my new, paridigm...
all bursting with love.

his name..... brio

and he is the bringer
of my new zest, zing
and vivacity......

i remember
that day, that moment
that changed
my everything

it was ordinary
in every aspect

bar one

your
incandescent
smile

beaming
like a lighthouse
showing me

the way home
to my safe harbour

I remember, that
with a gratitude
that guides my life

and causes me to smile

in a secret
and
self satisfied way...

you, you little
lighthouse of love
your gap-toothed smile
sent out over a bowl of
brown butter porridge
guides me away from
the reef of workday despair.

your hand in mine
so small trusting
and divine
brings me back
to the path
and
out of the dark woods

your cheery wave goodbye
keeps me swimming
through the murk of
the tedious day

and that welcome cuddle
at the end of the day
brings me back to my
home harbour...

you, you little
lighthouse of love
my bearings
my light on the hill
shine on, shine on

Fly to the brightness
Say the spider to the moths
Snack bars now open

Here I am,
picking tissue lint,
off my favourite linen pant's ( I hate it when you leave a tissue in the wash.)
thinking small thoughts.

My mind,
dawdling along,
as my hands pluck tissue.
A bit like a magpie hunting worms.
It is hypnotising, in it's own way.

My dip, into the shallow end, of realities swimming pool. Now, I know,
there are those out there,
who are drowning,
in the deep end
and those who,
swim laps endlesslly.
And I will tell you,
honestly.
I know well, both those states of mind.

Bu, for here and this moment.
Dipping in a toe, is just fine.

i slip into
the embrace
of the sea,
this morning
and it,
welcomes me.

the salt,
carresses my skin
and the cool water,
captures my mind

i swim out,
past the breakline
and into the green

who knows,
what swims beneath....
when i dive
i see nothing,
but seaweed
yet there is,
a whole world
down there...
watching,

as i stroke,
my way back and forth across the cove...

the worries of the landlocked cease,
and i am...
at one...
with the rythm...
of my body,
as the water,
slides,
past each and every,
skincell,

it is like...
weaving liquid silk,
into the weft,
of my tattered soul ...
and in doing so,
renewing vigour
and purpose.

the sun rises,
and the surfers come...
at last i am done....
and leave the water,
slipping quietly
back on to the sand...

and back into the less fluid
being of me....
patched....and embroidered
ready .....for another day

we stand in silence,
as the bugle calls,
out across this seat of learning.

lost in gratitude,
to warriors past
and present....
who live now,
in vallaha's halls.
and those returned...
and those few...
still missing...

we stand and think,
of those families,
their sacrifice and loss.

we remember wars past....
and pray for the cessasation,
of present conflict..

and then we move on,
with our day.....with hearts
both sad and grateful.

without a word
you can turn me
from my path,
leading me astray
and then another
minute, hour, day is gone.

you do one little thing
and my mind
becomes a blank canvas,
for you to draw
your funny little cartoon pictures on.

you can turn your head
and glance my way,
and i just melt
and commit with heart overwhelmed
to watching you play
and grow.

there will be a day,
far too soon,
when you will find,
my love for you,
awkward and embarassing. this i know and accept.

but for now, i can lose myself,
basking in the sunshine
of your love.
you are just
a little man right now
but you give a...
whole world of love
and a dollop of joy
and a sprinkle of hope,
in that happy, beeming, sunshine on a rainy day, smile.

you are my little, big, love

you and i
my dear one
have seen
so many
things

have taken
steps both
back and forward

have laughed
and cried
in many places

you have heard
my heart race
and watched me
sleep.

you know all
my secrets
but still
mysterious
you hold
your origins
within
the blue
twinkle of your
eye.

when we first met
for me i was
enamoured
instantly, lustful
of your graceful
beauty.

i had to have you
spent my last coins
but you were mine.

your glass so dusky
blue
washed by a million
waves.
encased in silver
filgree  
and a oak tree motif
hand linked chain

you are my luck
my blue oak
bought almost  
thirty  years past
worn most every day

i feel naked undressed
vunerable
if you are not with me.

just a chunk of sea glass
to some
to me
loves repository.
holder of memory,
rememberance and hope

little blue cat sleeps,
curled in the winter sun.
dreaming, big cat dreams,
run, gazelle, run, run, run.

happy little snapdragons
i love  the faces i see
standing in rows
like little solider boys
at play
all knowing the joke
but not sharing the secret

you smile and wag your dragon heads
but not your earthbound tails.

you are an endless delight to me...

radiant is thy smile,
smallboy love, exudes
from you,
like a flower god's nectar,
bestowed,
with negligent love,
upon a mother's world.
i will drink my fill,
everyday, whilst i can,
for far to soon will you
grow up.

little man,
you are, skipping stones,
across the millpond,
of your mother's heart.

you are not a monkey
in the jungle
or a superhero in flight
you are breakable,
not undestructable...
and we are not always
there when you jump...

as much as i would like to be

memories of hope,
reside in the glacial
crevices of heart.

she awaits the sun,
with no expectation
that it will come.

she remembers,
the days of daisy chains
and carefree love.
eons back,
across a barren plain.

she sits, on splintered
dreams
and washes her face,
with salty tears.

she waits for her life
to change,
for her ship to come
but she has never sent,
word for one.

she sows, sorrow
in her fallow fields
and harvests,
dust and fearful longings.

she is, the muse,
of those come undone
she is, mistress to those,
unraveled and unraveling

she is, loneliness incarnate.


she sits, on the cherry red
bar stool, in the corner
nursing, a  ***** martini
and waiting for her prince
she has been waiting for
a long time..... since...

shouldn't complain,
my life is good,
what's little rain !

but these little trials
of today, have me complaining anyway.

spilt coffee on my favourite shirt,
on the upside coffee
stone- cold no one hurt.

lost ten thousand word report, computer glitch
on the upside,
someone in Nepal
will have insight into dramatic synergy in isben's plays.

some dude stole my lunch, leftover chicken *** pie,
on the upside,
i'm fairly sure my two year old sneezed in it.

broke a heel in the carpark. no upside,
they were my favourites.

got home my mum,
who has come to live
with us,
has re-organised the kitchen. still looking
for the upside.

burnt dinner, no wine looking for the carkeys,
to go and find upside,
probably in the next city over.

car won't start,
upside,
no one can hear you,
scream in locked car!

downside,
they can see you....

...........shouldn't complain

a little poem
of little thoughts
just waiting to be loved

a little poem
of little dreams
just waiting to be woken

a little poem
with a great big  voice
waiting to be spoken

a little poem
in a little cage
waiting to be free'd

a little poem
from little me
waiting for little you
with little hope of trending

stay sane
within the insanity
draw a line in the sand
make it straight, yet flexible
enough to withstand
the  rough winds of argument

watch the sand blow away
still the line remains,
a furrow on the brow.
a burning bridge
beacon to  the too dark night
burning fever, feverbright

stay strong as belief does
becomes ash and ash does
becomes sky, flying forth
as squiggles written on ephemera

stay sane, within the insanity
this brief, brief, briefest time
for once the line is
broken and sundered
and the reality cold, enters in

then the sad, sad, sadness shatters
the snowglobe world within

water on the floorboards
may be tears or not.

glass shards scattered everywhere
and ginger bread house lost

once the ball is broken,
it cannot be retrieved

gliitter once unfrozen
will not be tamed again.

you will find that stuff for decades
and remember the insanity again...

singing songs in my head
reminding me of days
long dead, lives lived and lost
all that remains is the moss
shed from the stone rolling away
penny thoughts and diamond dreams
written on forgotten reams of parchment fine
vellum too, written when the dodo's ruled the zoo
words so divine, sieved through linen fine
stitched in dainty tapestry, told to me by a flea
given to him by a dog, barking mad, or mad barking
wisdom begining at a silly place, is still wisdom
if given from lessons learnt in strife.
life your life, in love, love your life and live

life.
four
letters,
but an
awfully
big
word.

love.
even
bigger,
a word
both
gigantic
and
minute.

live.
being
the
biggest,
broadest,
open to
enterpretation.
but
still
a looming,
largeness
to
behold.


live,
love,
life.


together,
a
mantra
for
a way
to be
large
among
the
small.

tallest
of the
tall.

broad
and
encompassing,
of one
and all.

live,
love,
life,

we all
fall,
sprawl.
but
rise up.

stand
and
fall,
learn,
to
learn,
from
it all.

love,
life.
live,
life.
live,
love.

Memories of a father long gone and only just remembered.
"You must remember this a kiss is but a kiss a smile is just a smile...., as time goes by"
sung as my lullaby in a deep low voice.

The smell of cigarette smoke, old spice and brylcreme.

The bone of your knee bouncing my backside as we watched Skippy on TV.
The deisel and oil that darkened your hands.

Barking laughter when you played rough'n'tumble with the boys.
Big gentle, fumbling hands when you came to "afternoon tea ".

The sheepish grin and shoulder shrug when you came home "weathered" from the pub.

Pockets empty except for betting slips.
Too many dinners of two dollars worth of chips please.
Christmas gifts in late February,
sometimes not at all.

The plate of bacon and eggs sliding down the wall,
inches from your head.

Angry shouting when we were meant to be sleeping, door slams followed by broken weeping.
Silence so intense it had us kids creeping round the walls.

Back bumper of a muscle car,
tailights burning red,
tyres sqealing,
suitcases stacked high in the backseat.

Selfish ******* whispered, by my mother,(the first time i ever heard her swear), into the coldnight country air.

As we stood watching and yearning for life to treat us fair.

i long for
             quiet
                     today,

a silence, so complete.

that,
i can not hear
my breath
whistling,
in and out
of my
genetically
imperfect lungs.

a silence, so serene

that,
i cannot
hear my
brain creaking,
as i think
thoughts,
far,
too heavy.

a silence, so magnificent

that,
i am  lost
in it's glory.

just for a heartbeat,
                                unheard.    
just for a synapse,
                               snapped.

silence

not, death, far too final.

silence

in all it's
              profound,
                             simplicity.

And this day is long
longer than the accumulation
of it's hours

dragging slow booted feet
through muggy, treacle air

grey despondent skies
sigh salubriously overhead

and on the horizon  the days end
shimmers just out of reach

a mirage, an illusory insult
to the mind struggling with
five more hours...

behind this desk
                      in this heat.
this ****** interminable heat!!!

and the page turns,
memories sepia, brown
and frosted with time
come to light.
faint, murmuring words,
swim at the back of my mind.

summer days....spent in splendour.
balmy nights and mosquito nets.
rockpools little crab kingdoms, the smell of coconut oil and arms macadamia nut brown..

and again the page turns
the boys in rugby kit
me standing off to one side
head in a book...
one girl among too many older brothers
always a tagalong in handmedowns and enid blyton's famous five..

and again the page turns...
christmss hats and presents
cold chicken,salads and little baby prawns....sherry trifle
and poppajack snoring, beer still in hand...

and the page turns and turns
little windows into former lives......sometimes nostalgia
and sometimes.... just a peeping tom..